‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you.
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